


The Violet Hour

by naboojakku



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Blood Drinking, Book: Breaking Dawn, Book: Eclipse, Book: New Moon, Book: Twilight, Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, Dark Edward Cullen, Darkfic, Edward's POV, F/M, Human Bella Swan, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Touching, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Edward Cullen, POV Third Person, Rape/Non-con Elements, Somnophilia, Stephenie Meyer - Freeform, Vaginal Fingering, Vampire Bites, Vampires, canonverse, clumsily written, eddie boy is just really creepy, mention of menstruation, non-con, obviously sksksksk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25881133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboojakku/pseuds/naboojakku
Summary: Watching her sleep is pure self-inflicted torture. One night, Edward succumbs to his urges.
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Bella Swan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 107





	The Violet Hour

**Author's Note:**

> **unbelievably there's not a single fic under the non-con blood-drinking tag so i had to fix that**

Another night of restlessness. He expects it now. 

Bella twitches in her sleep, arms flopping bonelessly over the sides of the bed. As usual, she’s not peaceful in repose. Instead, there’s a deep furrow between her eyebrows, and her mouth is unhappily pursed like she’s just tasted something sour. 

It hurts Edward to see her so uncomfortable. These past few weeks he’s seen her flail and thrash and thump the bed with her limbs, twisting her head side-to-side in search of something only she knows. Then again, maybe she doesn’t—maybe that’s why she struggles to find peace every night. No matter what position or angle or time, she can’t find the thing she’s looking for. She searches in vain for a thing she cannot have. 

If Edward had a heart, the sight of her in such pain would surely break it. 

Bella lets out a low moan and kicks a foot. The comforter, which by this point has already slid to the edge of the bed, falls to the floor. Her white sheets are tangled around her ankles. There’s a faint vein throbbing close to the skin on her left leg, and Edward has to steel himself against the wave of insufferable longing that rolls through him at the sight. 

She’s wearing a very small, very tight pair of shorts, blue and velvet and quite revealing. Her white t-shirt has ridden up, exposing her pale stomach. Edward has imagined more times than he can count licking a wet swipe across her navel. Just to taste her. Just to know the essence of her skin. It’s nearly driven him mad, the not-knowing. 

“...not yet, Charlie,” she mumbles, releasing a deep, unsatisfied sigh. “Just wait.”

Edward smiles, enamored by her nightly sleeptalk. He’s made a game of trying to decipher these strange, disconnected musings, but it never leads anywhere. Not that he expects it to, but since hers is the one mind he can’t read, it would be nice to get even a small glimpse of the inner workings. She’s so much a mystery, sometimes it’s difficult for him not to shake her awake and demand to know her dream-thoughts. 

Bella turns over again, hands dangling over the edge of the bed. Her lips form a name but don’t push it from her mouth. Edward briefly considers pressing his ear to those gently parted lips to make sense of that tiny puff of air, but he remains firmly seated in the rocking chair across the room. To move would be to risk her safety.

_What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her._

This thought came to him weeks ago. It was only his third visit to her bedroom. Bella had been sighing and muttering nonsense, and at some point in the night, when she had twisted from her stomach to her back, her legs had parted, and the scent hit him like a wrecking ball. Like a goddamned tsunami. 

She was menstruating. 

Edward had fled the bedroom then, hellbent on putting miles and miles between them before his true self dissolved and left the monster behind in his place. His body sang with the smell of her—candy and sunlight and pure heroin. He’d wanted to drink and drink and drink until he was fully engorged with her blood, until he was so overinflated that he threatened to pop like a greedy tick. 

Somehow, he found himself in Alaska, where he remained for three days with the Denali clan. Only then did he trust himself enough to return. Alice had seen his dilemma and informed the others. She knew he would arrive later that day, and as far as she could tell, Bella would live. 

Since then, Edward has taken extra precautions. Yet still that sibilant whisper, catching him unaware at his weakest: _What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her._ This thought wouldn’t be so hard to bear if there weren’t a grain of truth to it. Well, more than a grain.

He can do whatever he wants to Bella, and there’s no way for her to stop him. There’s no way for any _one_ or any _thing_ to stop him, really, save for one of his own kind, and even that might not be enough—the pull of her blood is so strong that nothing short of death itself will drive him away. This knowledge is frightening; he doesn’t want to hurt Bella, but a part of him needs to. A part of him _needs_ to suck and lick and drink from that slim, fragile throat—he aches at the image of his fangs puncturing delicate skin, of her head lolling to expose thin blue veins. 

What he wouldn’t do for just a single drop—the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. 

Bella inhales sharply, tearing him from his reverie. Her mouth twists into a frown, then smooths out into a placid sort of smile. Her lips part, and then, inevitably, it comes: his name. 

“Edward.” Like the sweetest sigh. Like the only balm in a rough storm. “Stay, Edward.”

Edward will _always_ stay. He’s known that for weeks. There will never be another. For him, she is it. She is life and light and happiness. She represents all things good and joyful. He will not be torn from her regardless of the opposition, in whatever form that may take.

His family will never intervene, of course; they know the score. She is Edward‘s—never to be touched by anyone else unless given explicit permission. Outside forces may not be so amenable, but no matter—he will rip them limb from limb before he’ll allow anything to come between him and his Bella.

_His_ Bella. The words send a sharp thrum of energy through him. A primal reminder. He is a natural predator, and in a sense she is his eternal prey. It just so happens that he loves this prey too much for his own good. 

He loves her. He _needs_ her. The need is so great—a tide rising ever higher. 

Before he knows it, Edward is on his feet. He’s not aware of moving. One moment he’s in the rocking chair. A quarter of a second later he’s standing, and then in no time at all he’s looming over the bed. His body works independently of his mind as he frantically tries to convince himself to leave. 

Bella is his—forever and always...or at least until her human life expires. She’s been whispering his name at night since the very beginning, always spoken in a voice so soft and yearning it pains him on a physical level. His fingers twitch to stroke her cheek or tangle in her soft, chestnut locks whenever he catches even the most fleeting glimpse of her. She looks for him at school now, and her mood is affected by his presence or absence. She seeks him out at lunch. She accepts rides from him of her own free will. 

What better evidence does he need to prove that his emotions are, in some regard, reciprocated? Not nearly on the level of his own emotions, of course; humans could never feel so deeply. His love is an ocean; hers, a still lake. 

_What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her._

But if she _did_ know what desires lurked in the back of his mind…. If she did, Edward suspects she might not mind. How could she? Everything about him is designed to draw her in.

Even as the idea horrifies him, he finds himself kneeling on the bed. In a flash he’s crouched between her spread legs. Those tiny shorts reveal the dip of her inner thighs; she’s not wearing any panties. In his heightened state, Edward’s fangs glisten with venom, and his body goes taut like it does when he’s nearing the end of a hunt. 

Bella hums, then sighs, “Edward” again. It’s nearly a moan, and it weakens him just enough. 

He peels her shorts down legs so pale and delicate they look more like glass than a human body. So fragile. To him, her bones are straw. Not even twigs would be an apt comparison. She’s weak and inferior in every physical way. But emotionally, she has him at the end of a very short, very sturdy leash. 

“Bella.” His tongue rolls over her name. It’s sweet and savory like spun sugar, and for half a second he gets lost in the sound of it. _Bella, my Bella._ But he refocuses when she shifts, head rolling in the pillows. 

She’s naked below the waist. Edward stares at her exposed cunt and imagines his mouth flooding with saliva rather than venom. His Bella is a perfect human specimen. Ripe and sweet and oh so ready to be devoured. Heart-shaped face and dark hair to complement sparkling green eyes. A slim body so tight and tiny he could completely cover her with his own, wrap himself around her like another blanket. 

_What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her._

Edward is ready to test that theory. All his carefully erected barriers crumble when she moans again. He slowly crawls to his stomach and slides his hands beneath her pale white thighs. Despite her nightly thrashing, Bella is a sound sleeper. She won’t wake unless an especially loud noise comes to pass. With that in mind, he lowers his head and sniffs.

Instant chaos.

His body jerks forward involuntarily, as if the leash she’s kept him on these last few weeks has suddenly tightened. His head dips, and when his lips brush her inner thigh he nearly moans. In its place, a deep, rumbling growl courses through his chest. Predatory, of course, and hungry. It’s a growl that says, _This is mine. This is mine and I want it now._

It takes little self-encouragement to sink his teeth into the soft skin of her inner thigh. 

His eyes roll, and he immediately begins to suck. Blood flows from the twin puncture wounds, filling his mouth and slicking his throat. It’s ecstasy—the best meal he’s ever had. His hips jerk against the mattress—an old response from a past life. He presses his forehead to her inner thigh and closes his eyes. The sucking goes on for a minute, maybe a few seconds longer. Bella whimpers once but does not stir. 

After a moment both infinite and too brief, Edward retracts his fangs. They slide smoothly from her flesh as a knife slides through butter. He licks the puncture wounds to speed their recovery, lapping at a few stray drops of blood on her skin. 

Then he turns and eyes her other thigh. _Drink, drink, drink,_ the monster demands. _Give her something in return,_ the rational side of him murmurs. Edward likes this idea. Tit for tat. 

Before he descends a second time, he gently runs a finger over her slit. It’s bone-dry, which at least tells him she’s not having any sort of pleasurable dreams, although he already guessed that based on her pained expressions. 

Despite his many years, Edward hasn’t been with more than a dozen women, and that includes unsatisfactory one-night stands. The appeal of human flesh vanished along with his normal appetite. In its place is a deeper craving, one that’s hardly satiated by desire. 

Gently, Edward slips a finger through her pretty pink folds, marveling at the softness. Like velvet. Or downy feathers. He begins to rub her clit, slowly at first, giving them both time to warm up. 

Bella moans again and tilts her head back into the pillows, back bowing off the mattress. Her hips push into his touch. He’s overjoyed; she’s responding to him even dead sleep. Will wonders never cease! 

Edward strokes her clit with one hand and uses the other to push her legs further apart. He licks the inside of her thigh, the skin there soft and thin, before he bites down. Again, blood like he’s never tasted in all his long life floods his aching body. He gorges himself—not to bursting, but close enough. He has to tear himself away from her flesh—a nearly impossible feat if not for the slickness coating his hand. 

She’s completely aroused now. His fingers have done good work. 

Licking the tips of his fangs, Edward eyes both sets of puncture wounds on her thighs before diving in. Her cunt is so plush and pretty; he shoves his nose into her folds and laps up the collected juices. 

Bella makes a high keening noise in the back of her throat, and her whole body shudders. Edward realizes a moment too late that she’s coming. Her slick arousal floods his mouth, in much the same way her blood did moments ago, and he eagerly sucks and drinks up these fluids too. It all belongs to her, which means it all belongs to him too. 

Minutes pass before he manages to lick every inch of bare skin between her legs. He covers her cunt and inner thighs, sweeping his tongue inside her deliciously wet folds and over her fuzzy mound. The tiny hairs tickle his nostrils, and he grins against her inner lips. She’s flushed down there by his attentions, and the sight makes him unexpectedly emotional. 

Against all odds, he’s done it. By god, he's done it. He’s somehow managed to keep a lid on his bloodlust while in her presence. He's somehow succumbed to the dark desires within him but not the ever-lurking monster. He’s somehow pleasured her to the point of climax while _unconscious_. A successful endeavor all around. 

Bracing himself on his elbows, Edward licks from the base of her slit all the way up to her swollen clit before pulling back. She tastes wonderful—salty and warm and faintly floral. Probably lotion of some sort. He’s already craving more. 

The bedroom window slides open with practiced ease. He casts one final look at his Bella before escaping into the chilly night. She’s wearing her shorts again, body covered by the thick comforter that once lay on the floor. Her hair spreads in an uneven halo across the pillows, and on her lips is a small smile. That tells him everything he needs to know. 

_What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her._

Tomorrow is another day, and at the end of it twilight will sear the sky once more with shades of soft azure and indigo and the slightest hint of crimson. His tongue flickers over the tips of his fangs. 

He’ll see her again very soon.

**Author's Note:**

> **title taken from the song "The Violet Hour" by The Civil Wars from the New Moon soundtrack**


End file.
